Killed the Cat
by Harey
Summary: Nephamael revels in the liberating confines of the iron city and narrowly escapes one of those vicious, wheeled contraptions before making his botched attempt on Ellen's life.


**AN: Yes, I know I'm stalling for time on my multi-chapter fics, but this popped into my head, and I couldn't ignore it. I think there's something so beautiful about Nephamael walking in the city, like he belongs there, paradoxical as it is. Perhaps it fits in a little with his sadistic side?**

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Nephamael pulled his coat more tightly against his body, the frigid wind whipping back his hair and stinging his face. He was only lightly glamoured, to cover the scar that singed his brow, and for some strange reason, he relished the sharp tang of iron, even the powerful, acidic smell of gasoline as he passed a gas station. Others would surely find him insane for walking alone in the city, but he loved the strange rush Ironside brought him. Even the court could be more stifling, at times.

At times he would imagine the chaos that would ensue if those mortals found the courts, if they came to recognize the existence of the Folk. The idea filled most with terror, but Nephamael found a perverse pleasure in it. Surely war would follow, a war of unimaginable proportions. How many would die?

The glaring lights burned his eyes, cast a harsh tone against his skin, making him look both fearsome and weak at the same time. All that glinting metal caught his eye here and there, and it proved to be terribly distracting. For a moment he worried that he might stray from his destination, wandering in the city for hours on end, deep into the night, until exhaustion overtook him.

For a moment he actually considered it. Then he remembered that curiosity killed the cat, and decided not to become the cat.

No, there was another sort of cat on the list to die today--admittedly more mortal than cat, but that was a relatively minor detail. Two, in fact, if one considered the long-term plan. There was a certain girl--a changeling pixie, who was, ironically enough, to be the Unseelie Court's "mortal" sacrifice. That was about as interesting as the premise that she was to be willing, as well. This was not entirely false, however, as the denizens of the Unseelie Court had managed to refine the act of deceiving without lying outright, into an art. His plan--rather, Silarial's plan--was to kill the mortal acting as the girl's mother, to drive her closer to the court. His intention was then to convince her to "act" as the sacrifice, with the promise of keeping a glamour on her, allowing her to fake her own death, and eventually setting her free. All to humiliate Nicnevin

It was a bit of an exaggerated revenge, but that was exactly what the Night Court was known for, and it simply wouldn't do to kill an ancient queen quietly. It was much more tasteful to drive the chaotic throng to turn on their own Lady, all because of something she hadn't even been aware of. To fight the court with just the sort of thing they would do. No discreet poison for _her_, not at all.

Nephamael found himself moving blindly now, so immersed in these thoughts that he hardly noticed that his path had angled into the road. He jumped, startled, as a car horn blared impatiently, and hurried to get out of the path of the dangerous iron mechanism.

He was taking too long already, he realized. It was late, and the hours flew by more quickly in the mortal world than they did in Faery. It was time to reach his destination, to do what he had been sent to do. _Enough distractions_, he decided, swinging open the door and entering the squalid bar.

Nephamael was immediately assaulted by the pungent odors of human sweat, alcohol, tobacco smoke, and generally unidentifiable chemical smells, making his head ache powerfully--Not to mention the agonizing clamor that arose from the "singing". He instinctively thickened his glamour, hoping to dull his senses a little more, but to no avail. The conditions of the room were enough to offend even those of a dense mortal; no glamour would be enough. He settled on trying to hold his breath, and moved in the direction of someone he had seen "performing" with his victim.

He sized up the scruffy form of the man that stood before him, and decided not to wait a single moment before slipping the notion into his mind to trust Nephamael, that they had known each other. It was not long before the two were chatting warmly, as if they shared some sort of bond. Nephamael was sure he looked out of place here, but he hoped that he would not need to be there long enough for anyone to notice.

Nephamael struggled not to either flinch or laugh as the man slung an arm around his shoulder--Repulsive, but a sign that the enchantment was indeed quite effective. He half-listened, focusing more on watching the girl and her mother. The proper responses just sort of rolled smoothly out of his mouth, and, to further strengthen the enchantment, Nephamael slipped a small thorn carefully into the pocket of the man's leather jacket.

"So..." Nephamael purred softly, as if seeking to bring up a thoroughly interesting subject, "You ever just want to _kill_ her?" The suggestive edge in his silky tone caused a few close onlookers to stare for a moment, but Nephamael quickly persuaded them to go about their business. He then started pointedly at the man, before shifting his gaze to the subtly aging, slightly ragged looking woman passing by them.

"Yeah," the man replied agreeably, now completely under the influence of the faery.

Nephamael grinned, a dark yet encouraging expression, before slipping a small knife seemingly out of nowhere and into the man's hand. "I'll help you," he whispered softly, before sending his new slave in the woman's direction with a nod.

It was surprisingly easy, really, to influence mortal minds. Most of them were terribly indecisive creatures anyway, and to hint at this or that to them was usually enough to tip that scale. It was even easier when the mortal in question never had much of a mind to begin with, and more still when he had been under the influence of some mind-altering substance. Fortunately for Nephamael, this one had all of the above going for him.

Nephamael quickly scanned the area for any who might be watching him, before glamouring himself to match his surroundings--and abruptly disappearing, in human eyes. He could not count on the fact that, if his slave were to be caught in the act, he would not say something about a strange man talking him into it. Not that any human authorities would believe him, of course, but there was still that chance, and Nephamael was not the sort to leave any possibilities open.

He watched as the man approached the victim and her "daughter", saying something that seemed to confuse the girl a bit. Nephamael almost laughed--sometimes the strange behavior of those he had influenced could have amusing effects on other mortals.

Nephamael barely had the time to blink an eye before the man raised his arm , intending to thrust the knife into the woman's back--in full view of the girl. Nephamael cursed himself inwardly, wishing he had given clearer instructions. Unfortunately, the girl managed to push the man back, and before anything more could be done, a full fight had broken out, and Nephamael felt sickness rising in the pit of his stomach--He had failed.

Or _had_ he? He waited, watching as the human authorities arrived, and managed to drag off the furious man. He could only hope that the circumstances had been right, that somehow this had forced the two to move closer to the court. In any case, he was sure that whatever punishment Silarial might deal out could be nowhere near as unpleasant as anything Nicnevin would do. The one good thing about Silarial was that she was almost sickeningly predictable.

Perhaps the girl was cleverer than he thought--which would surely prove disastrous for him. He would have to watch her carefully, but stay at a distance. All he knew was that his precarious balance between the two courts would be shattered if this plan was not carried out, and that he would do anything his power to keep it running smoothly.

But for now he decided to disappear entirely, hoping no one noticed the door opening seemingly of its own accord. He stepped back out into the liberating night and the burning smell of iron, this time careful to avoid those vicious, wheeled contraptions.


End file.
